


We Come Running

by a_fearsome_thing



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, X-Men AU - Freeform, mutant AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-07 20:01:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11630862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_fearsome_thing/pseuds/a_fearsome_thing
Summary: Keith has learned a lot since he discovered he can create fire: don’t trust other people, not ever other mutants. Don’t stay in one place for too long. Stay away from the Garrison. Don’t get attached, because everyone leaves.He hasn’t quite learned how to control it, though, which is how he finds Shiro, who’s looking for a school. And just like that, everything he knows turns upside down.





	We Come Running

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is! Bang #1. And it all started with a dream. Well, more an early morning wake up and still sleepy thoughts, but whatever.
> 
> A shout-out to my glorious partner, [Princess-tentacles](princess-tentacles.tumblr.com), who created beautiful artwork that has caused a constant, low-key scream in my chest since I first saw it. It's so good. Guys. The colors. The characters. The _clothes_. They're good.
> 
> Title is from the song of the same name. It's super catchy.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Keith stares in dismay as the once small blaze quickly flames out of control. He’d thought he had it well in hand, but between one breath and the next, it erupted. Now it’s climbing the wall and spitting embers at the very flammable wooden packing crates scattered around the room.

This will be his third warehouse in as many months.

Keith pulls his bandana up around his mouth, darting forward to grab his ratty bag when  he’s blindsided in a tackle side by a larger, heavier body. Keith comes alive, fighting like a wildcat to dislodge whoever’s attacked him, all flailing limbs as he grabs for his knife. The situation isn’t really that foreign to him, but usually people wait until _after_ they’ve gotten out of the burning building to beat on the mutant that caused it.

He manages to slip out of the other person’s hold, scrambling to his feet before they’re on him again, hand firmly on his head and forcing him down towards the ground.

“Stay down!” a hoarse voice commands, trying to be heard over the roaring of the flames, “Do you want to breathe in the smoke?”

Keith freezes. Are they _helping_ him? His momentary pause gives the man the opportunity to drag Keith to the ground where they remain crouched. Keith twists around to get a good look at whoever the hell thinks the best way to handle a fire is to manhandle the first person they come across, but he’s roughly pushed forward so he has to catch himself on his hands and knees and doesn’t get a more than a glimpse of dark hair.

“The door is that way, what are you waiting for?” is almost shouted at him, interrupted by coughs, “Go!”

Since he has to get out of there anyway, before someone notices the fire and comes by to assign blame, Keith snatches up the strap of his bag and crouch-walks as fast as he can out of the warehouse. As soon as he clears the door, he rises fluidly to full height and shifts into a sprint.

There is no dignity in escaping a burning building when you have to duck-walk your way out.

As soon as he’s clear of whatever shrapnel the towering flames can throw, Keith pulls to a stop, spinning on his heel to finally get a read on whoever was in there with him.

They don’t expect the sudden stop, and they’re much closer than _Keith_ expected. The much larger figure nearly bowls him over as they collide, and the only things preventing Keith from hitting the ground painfully are the strong arms that wrap around him and the _huge wings that flaring up behind his tackler_.

Keith stares at them over the broad shoulder he’s currently pressed against, the complete shock of being found by another mutant overriding his general discomfort at the invasion of his personal space.

The wings are huge, black and grey and red and white, and Keith doesn’t have time to figure out what’s their natural coloration and what’s from the fire before the man pulls away. The wings come down to tuck in tight against the stranger’s back, and his soot-covered face takes up almost the entirety of Keith’s vision, dark eyes carefully roaming Keith’s face and body.

“Are you hurt?” he asks urgently, concern bright in his gaze. The effect is ruined when he begins coughing and seems unable to stop. Keith stares but stays quiet, too bewildered to do much of anything else. Still, despite his inability to breathe, the other man persists, a breathless question dragging out between coughs, “ _Are you okay?”_

“What? I’m fine,” Keith dismisses, finally snapping out of his frozen surprise and dropping to the ground to rummage through his bag. The other mutant follows him down with far less grace, landing on his knees and continuing to cough dry, harsh coughs into his elbow with eyes clenched tight.

Keith nudges his arm with the bottle of water he’d successfully located, uncapping it and holding it out in offering. The man blinks red-rimmed, watering eyes at him before he accepts it gratefully, chugging it down as fast as he can.

“Thanks,” he rasps, his voice not nearly as rough as before and no longer trying to hack up necessary organs.

Keith shrugs, “No problem.”

Sirens sound in the distance, and the two simultaneously snap their heads in the direction of the noise then back to each other. In unspoken agreement, they both grab their bags and sprint towards the forest. Within seconds of clearing the first few trees, the first firetrucks pull into view, and they keep running until Keith’s new companion collapses to his knees, gasping for breath and coughing.

Keith takes half a dozen steps before he notices that he’s lost the other man, and he turns and trots back to stand awkwardly beside him, unsure what to do to help.

“Are you okay?” he asks, giving in to the stupid question just to make it feel like he’s doing something. The man waves him off, nodding, but continues coughing. Keith shrugs. There’s nothing he can do, then.

He takes the opportunity instead to study the man, beyond just the wings. He’s a lot younger than Keith expected, with dark hair styled in an undercut and tan skin on a youthful face.

What was he doing in a warehouse with a full canvas shoulder bag?

The wings flutter as he lets out another series of coughs. Right. That would be why.

Eventually, the coughs peter off and the man falls heavily into a sitting position. He props his elbows on his knees for support and grins up at Keith, teeth white against the soot smeared across his face.

“I never would have said I was old,” he says, voice wrecked but persisting anyway, “but a measly fire can make me hack out my lungs and you’re standing there just fine.” He sticks his hand out to Keith, “I’m Shiro, by the way.”

Keith slowly takes Shiro’s hand, “Keith. And fire’s never really bothered me.” Shiro grips his hand firmly and continues to smile. Keith pulls back as soon as his grip loosens and draws a few feet away so he can lean against a tree in practiced nonchalance. But he doesn’t leave.

“Is that why you weren’t worried about getting out?” Shiro asks, no judgment or suspicion in his tone.

“Uh, yeah,” Keith says, unable to meet Shiro’s eyes. Shiro’s obviously a mutant, too, but Keith can’t get over his reluctance to discuss his powers or himself. It’s an ingrained habit at this point. “What were you doing in there?” he asks, unsubtly directing the conversation away from himself.

Shiro huffs a laugh, dragging his bag into his lap and rifling through it. In no time at all, he’s extracted a water bottle and a crumpled up blanket.

“I _was_ sleeping,” he says, offering the water to Keith before taking a sip when Keith turns it down. “Luckily, I’m a light sleeper.”

Guilt flares in Keith’s gut even as Shiro shrugs carelessly and shakes out the blanket, like he’s not talking about the fact he would have died if he hadn’t woken up when he did. Keith would have been fine no matter what—he doubts Shiro has the same protection.

“I’m sorry!” he blurts out before he can stop himself. Shiro pauses over the blanket he’s now rolling into a tight log, eye wide and eyebrows rising in question as he stares at Keith. The turned up edge of Shiro’s mouth never falls into a frown.

Keith looks away, gripping the strap of his bag, “The fire was my fault.” The confession falls out of him, and his gaze flits back to Shiro’s face, “I didn’t mean to!” He really didn’t. “I just…happens.”

Shiro keeps smiling that same soft smile at him. Keith is so confused.

“I sort of figured,” Shiro says, shrugging again and turning back to his blanket.

“You knew I was a mutant?” Keith asks, stunned.

Shiro almost drops the blanket in surprise, giving Keith a baffled look, “Were you hiding it? Wait, was that your way of confessing you’re a mutant?” He waves one hand off to the side, “I thought you were admitting the fire was an accident. Keith, if you’re trying to hide your mutation, don’t stare at a blazing fire and then shrug it off as having a _high fire tolerance_ while the guy next to you looks like a roasted chicken and can’t stop coughing.”

Keith stares at him. Shiro goes slightly pink across the bridge of his nose and runs a hand through his hair, “Sorry. I’m sure that’s not the reaction you were expecting. I just didn’t think it was a big deal.” He twitches his wings to draw Keith’s attention. “Obviously. But thank you for telling me.”

Who _is_ this guy?

He watches as Shiro stores his tightly rolled blanket in his bag and starts pulling out a series of belts, a hoodie, another pair of pants, and a large jacket. With a competence born of practice, Shiro loops the belts around his body and wings, cinching them tight over his shirt and wincing minutely each time. He goes systematically, starting at his chest and working his way down, eventually having to stand so he can continue with a couple of smaller ones on his thighs.

The wings are so long that the longest feathers hit Shiro’s ankle. Does he do this every day? From his reactions, it’s not comfortable.

Once all the belts are on, Shiro pulls the black sweatshirt over his head, tugs the jacket on over that, and pulls the second pair of (much looser) pants on top of the first pair and his wings. The end result is a much lumpier figure that successfully makes Shiro look simply big instead of…a mutant.

It makes sense now how Shiro survives in the world and hasn’t been picked up by the Garrison.

What does he do in the summer?

Shiro looks up from smoothing down the sweatshirt and grins ruefully when he catches Keith still watching him.

“It does the job,” he says. He reaches into his bag again and retrieves a pack of wipes this time, using them to clean the smoke-smear off his exposed skin, rubbing at his face and neck. Blindly, he offers up the package to Keith even as he scrubs at his nose.

Does this guy come prepared for everything? What would it take to faze him?

Entirely out of his element, Keith can’t do anything but accept a wipe and clean the grime off of himself—just because fire and smoke don’t really hurt him doesn’t mean they don’t make him dirty. He admittedly feels better—but no less bewildered—once the layer of soot is wiped away.

Shiro reseals the package of wipes with brisk efficiency, stashing it in his bag and putting his used wipe in a separate, sealable sandwich bag that he stores in an outer pocket. After doing one final inventory, he zips up his bag, climbs to his feet, and slings his duffel over his shoulder.

Keith should probably worry that Shiro is military, but something in his gut tells him he’s not. Maybe he was a boy scout.

“Can’t do anything about the smell now, but hopefully the wind and walking will help dampen it a bit,” Shiro says, inspecting their surroundings again. He turns to Keith. “Ready to go?”

Keith startles, “What?”

“Oh,” Shiro’s hand jumps to rub at the back of his neck and a blush creeps across his cheeks, “It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone around. And I figured if we travel together, we can watch out for each other. It looks less suspicious if two people our age show up in a town, instead of one.” He meets Keith’s eyes, eyebrows raised and one corner of his mouth tugging up. Keith would say it was a hopeful look, but that would be absurd.

He's being logical, and it _is_ practical. Keith has gotten strange looks in some of the towns he’s gone through, to the point he hadn’t felt safe spending even a night there—small towns have a hair trigger for reporting mutants. Traveling as a pair is a good strategy.

“Ok, sure,” he agrees. Shiro seems nice enough, and it wouldn’t be the worst thing to have someone to help throw off suspicion. Or to help put out the fires before they get out of control.

It’ll only be for a couple weeks, anyway.

Shiro grins at him, “Great. We should go.”

Keith picks up his pack and slings it over his shoulders, “Let’s go.”

He and Shiro walk side by side, heading deeper into the forest, quiet, easy.

Shiro’s the one to break the silence, “Do you mind camping?”

Keith shifts uncomfortably. “Woods and I don’t always get along,” he admits. It’s an understatement. The last time his father had taken him camping, Keith had accidentally started a forest fire after he’d had nightmares from the ghost stories.

Keith doesn’t tell ghost stories anymore. Not that he has anyone to tell them to.

“Alright, no camping,” Shiro agrees easily. Keith’s eyes widen and he glances askance at Shiro, but he doesn’t notice Keith’s surprise, continuing, “There’s another town five miles away we could probably make it to. We can cut through the trees and hit the road so we avoid the emergency vehicles.”

“Is that far enough? They’ll be looking for the arsonist,” Keith points out. The firefighters will have to know it wasn’t a normal accident—abandoned warehouses don’t spontaneously combust.

“We’ll get a room in a motel. Pretend we’re backpacking across country together and just got into town. Act casual,” Shiro says. His nonchalance is either real or so convincing it’s impossible to say otherwise, which supports this plan working. If Keith had been alone, his only chance of getting away with it would have been avoiding talking to anybody, but Shiro is much better at lying.

“Ok,” Keith agrees, settling in for a long walk. He turns his face to the late morning sun as he walks, feeling its warmth as it dabbles across his face. The forest is alive with noises, apparently deciding they’re not a threat.

“So, fire, then?” Shiro’s voice breaks him out of his peaceful enjoyment of the walk, and Keith turns to stare, confused, at his companion. Shiro catches the look and pulls his hands out of his pockets, raising them in surrender. “You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to.”

Is he trying to get to know Keith?

At Keith’s continued silence, Shiro sticks his hands back into his jacket and shrugs, “Or we can walk in silence. That’s good, too.” He honestly seems to mean it.

“No, it’s fine,” Keith says, surprising himself.  It’s been a while since he’s had any kind of conversation with anyone, but Shiro is such a solid, naturally easy presence that Keith _wants_ to talk to him. “Yeah, fire.” He can almost say it like it hasn’t ruined a good portion of his life.

“How long?” Shiro asks, not looking at Keith, which he appreciates. For a simple questions, it’s loaded for mutants. How long have you known you were different? How long have you had to hide a part of yourself? How long have you worried someone would report you to the Garrison, hunt you down, attack you?

“Since I was six,” Keith answers. Shiro winces. “You?”

“We could tell what they were when I was eight. They hit this size—proportionally—around puberty. That was fun.”

_How long before your family gave up on hiding you?_ Keith carefully doesn’t ask. Shiro glances at him out of the corner of his eyes, posture casual but expression shrewd.

“I ran away when I was 18,” he says, and either Shiro has some sort of mind-reading ability or Keith is that obvious. Based on history, he’s that obvious. “I pick up odd jobs in different towns, try to take college classes on libraries’ computers when I can afford them.” He smiles like the sun, “I almost have my degree.”

Keith hasn’t bothered to think of a way of going back to school, not at the rate he has had to leave towns. Mostly, he’s self-taught, with whatever books or computers he can get access to.

Noting Keith’s discomfort, Shiro changes the subject, “So, where were you heading? Any place in particular?”

Keith shrugs, “Not really. Wherever I can find a place, usually. Are you…going somewhere?”

Shiro’s not the first mutant Keith’s met. It’s not rare to run into one or two when squatting the night in an abandoned warehouse or while making your way across stretches of fields or woods or mountains. He’d shared a cave with an old woman once, who had woken up a young girl the next morning.

It’s not always safe. Sometimes the Garrison promises to give mutants a break if they turn each other in, so trust is an issue. It’s part of the reason most mutants don’t hang around each other for too long, on the road.

Every time he’s found other mutants, though, traveling with them or just bunking for the night, none of them were ever going anywhere. Keith has been wandering since he was 13 years old, and he has never had a destination to wander _to_. When you’re a mutant, you either blend in or you just…go.

Shiro rubs the back of his neck, “Not specifically. Not yet. I’ve heard rumors of a—a school. For people like us.” He glances quickly at Keith, a flash of his eyes evaluating Keith’s face and flicking away again. “They give us a safe place to live, teach classes. Help mutants learn how to control their powers.”

It sounds too good to be true.

“Where can you hide a school full of mutants that the Garrison can’t find?” he wonders aloud, skeptical.

Shiro grins, brows furrowed in a sheepish expression as he sticks his hands back in his pockets.

“Well, that’s the problem. I don’t know.” Keith nearly trips over a tree root. “I’m trying to find it. Like I said, there are rumors of this place, but no one has a location. I don’t know how they find the students—or if the students find them—but I have to try.”

“I’ve never heard of it.” Keith readjusts his bag. He’s not entirely convinced it’s a good place to go—if it exists—with that many mutants together in one place. For one, it’s a lot of people. Two, it’s a liability waiting to happen, either from the Garrison finding them or one of the students destroying the place. Then again, if they can really help him control his powers…He stares down at his hands before clenching them into fists. “What if it’s like Weblum?”

Weblum is a well-known secret among mutants and norms alike, although the government likes to pretend it never happened. Ten years ago, it was advertised as a place for mutants to get help and find belonging. It was a trap. Mutants went in and no one ever heard from them again.

That was when they started hearing about the Garrison.

“I thought of that, too,” Shiro admits, “But it’s different. Not everyone knows about it, and those that do are reluctant to talk about it. Weblum was talked about like it was an Eden for mutants. It was everywhere. It’s like this place doesn’t exist.”

Keith concedes that point. He can still remember the Weblum posters even now. He remembers his dad almost sent him there before the truth got out, and it was shut down. He suppresses a shiver.

“What if that’s because it doesn’t exist?”

Shiro’s face falls, but he clenches his jaw for a moment and shakes his head, “I have to believe it does.”

Keith studies him, and Shiro meets his eyes with a steely gaze. He really does believe in it, and it’s something that’s important to him. Shiro needs this school to exist.

“Why are you telling me?” he asks, baffled, “I could be a Garrison spy.”

Shiro’s face softens and falls back into a grin as he raises a teasing eyebrow at him, “Well, I doubt you would be saying that if you _were_ a spy, but you seem like a good person. I feel like I can trust you.”

Keith stares. “That’s it?”

“Should there be more?”

_Yes_ , Keith wants to say. He doesn’t understand how there _couldn’t_ be more to it. He eyes Shiro, wary now. Maybe he’s the one who’s the Garrison spy. Keith dismisses the idea as quickly as it enters his head. Shiro has such an obvious, physical mutation that the Garrison would never agree to him spying if he was working with them. He’d either be experimented on or he would become the Garrison’s mutant poster boy, used to tell mutants and their families that it’s safe and encourage them to report to the Garrison.

Between the angel wings and Shiro’s face, Keith would put his money on the poster boy option.

Which means he can trust Shiro. Probably.

He wants to.

Shiro turns to him and smiles brightly, and Keith decides he’ll trust him, for now.

They walk in an oddly comfortable silence for a while, the forest coming to life around them as they cut through it towards the highway on the other side. Shiro will occasionally shift his bag from one side to the other, and they’ll pass a water bottle back and forth.

When they do talk, it’s light and teasing, mostly on Shiro’s part. Keith isn’t quite sure how to respond to the teasing from the older boy, tending to go silent in the face of his jokes because Shiro’s smile takes away any insult that Keith might have otherwise assumed was there, and it makes him feel wrong-footed.

He gets the feeling that’s going to happen a lot around Shiro. He’s unlike anyone Keith has ever met so far, but Keith is sure that impression will fade once they spend more time together and the front Shiro’s putting on gives way to the real Shiro.

For now, though, it’s surprisingly enjoyable, and Keith is going to let himself have this. Time passes quickly and, before he ever expects it, the trees are thinning and the sound of cars speeding by every so often reaches their ears.

“Do you want to take a break and eat something, or do you want to power through to the town?” Shiro asks, glancing over at Keith.

Keith eyes the road through a gap in the trees and considers. He isn’t tired at all, but there’s an unknown distance left to travel and stopping here is safer than stopping on the side of the road, “Let’s take a break.”

Shiro nods and lets his bag slip over his head and off his shoulders to _thump_ to the ground. He works through a few stretches in his neck, upper back and shoulders while Keith drops his own bag and flops down to rummage through it in search of his trail mix and water.

Once he finishes with his stretches, Shiro swipes the duffel from the ground and hangs it from a branch, pulling out his own food and water with far more ease than Keith did. Uncapping his water, he leans easily against the tree next to his bag.

“You don’t want to sit?” Isn’t that the point of a break?

Shiro’s eyebrows rise before his expression twists towards wry, “It’s usually better if I stay standing like this. It’s more comfortable.” He jerks his head over his shoulder to where the bulge that indicates the top of Shiro’s wings is protruding.

Keith’s face burns at his mistake. Of course Shiro can’t sit— with his wings lashed all the way down his legs, sitting, crouching, or even bending must force his wings to bend with the shape of his body and possibly be crushed under his weight. It has to be painful.

Curiosity burns through him, because how does Shiro function in society, but he manages to keep a cap on it, like always. People don’t appreciate questions like that. Even without asking, though, Shiro answers Keith’s questions.

“It’s one of the reasons I was relieved to get out of normal classrooms, to be honest. And it’s why I apply for a lot more jobs that require standing instead of deskwork.” His mouth twists again, before a grin tugs at the corner, “They tend to pay less, but I pay _for_ it less, later.”

Keith groans. That was just plain awful. He almost reconsiders traveling anywhere with Shiro.

(That’s a lie. He’s never met someone quite so blinding. He _should_ leave before the shine wears off or before Shiro leaves him. He won’t.)

“So what _were_ you doing in that warehouse?” Shiro asks. Keith flushes, and Shiro waves a dismissive hand. “I mean, were you practicing? Or does it just spark? I want to be prepared.” He shrugs, like it really is no big deal and he’s not worried about it.

He thinks it won’t be a problem. Keith focuses on closing his bag of trail mix. That’ll change. It always does.

“I was trying to practice,” he admits, “I don’t usually start them without meaning to, unless something surprises me, or if I’m attacked. Sometimes nightmares can do it.” Heat creeps across his face, but if they’re going to be sleeping in the same room, Shiro needs to know for his own safety. “That doesn’t happen as much anymore. My problem is controlling the size of it. I can get the spark at will but keeping it small enough to control is harder.”

He glares at his hands in frustration, remembering the small flame that had grown too quickly and then blazed out of his hands as he struggled to extinguish it. If he could just _control_ it, he wouldn’t have to worry about being caught.

A candlelight flicker appears in his palm, and he smothers it in his fist before it has time to breathe.

Shiro’s silent, and Keith chances a glance up at him, expecting pity or judgment or regret to be visible on his face. Instead he looks…thoughtful.

“I’ve talked to a lot of mutants and read some theories about the origin of mutant powers—not the ones about how we’re a weapon of mass destruction created by eugenics, those are awful—and there’s evidence supporting meditation and breathing as helpful for control. It’s hypothesized that there’s often a tie between emotions and some powers. It might be true, in your case.” Shiro’s gaze focuses back on Keith from where it had drifted to a middle distance. He offers a shrug and a small smile, “And if not, I’ve always found patience yields focus anyway.”

“Maybe,” Keith answers lamely. There’s not a better response to that, really. Shiro doesn’t expect one, anyway, neatly storing his trash and water bottle back in his bag and brushing off his hands.

“Ready to go?” he asks, reaching out to pull Keith to his feet.

“Yeah.” Keith grabs hold and allows himself to be hauled upright, settling his backpack on his shoulders as Shiro slings his duffel back onto his shoulders. “Let’s go.”

They don’t walk directly next to the highway—it’s illegal and dangerous and an invitation for unwanted attention—but remain close enough to it that the trees have thinned out and they can make better time than if they were in  the more thickly forested area further back. Despite their increased speed, the walk is much less enjoyable as the heat from the cars rises off the pavement to roll over them in a wave even at a distance.

It makes Keith miss his time in the desert. At least there, the heat was clean and dry and came with quiet.

Even Shiro’s so far unfailing good mood is affected. His shoulders hunch up slightly higher towards his ears and his passing comments or light questions become rarer, until they’re both walking on in silence.

The sign indicating the next exit has a motel is a welcome relief until it’s not, because Keith remembers that he doesn’t have the money necessary to rent a room.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Uh, Shiro,” he calls as Shiro walks towards the front office. The motel had ended up being miles away, and Keith still didn’t have a plan for how he was going to tell Shiro he didn’t have any money. But he has to say something. Shiro looks back, one eyebrow raised in question but not stopping. Keith jogs forward, “Shiro, wait.”

It’s too late. Shiro pulls open the door and enters. Keith helplessly watches him approach the desk and start charming the middle-aged woman at the computer. She says something and Shiro turns and gestures for him to come in, smiling.

Reluctant, Keith grimaces and pulls the door, dragging his feet to the other boy and preparing to embarrass himself. He should have done this sooner.

“You two are such cute brothers!” she exclaims.

Keith looks wide-eyed at Shiro, who gives him a subtle shrug in response. Shiro didn’t tell her that. He slings an arm around Keith’s neck, pulling him close and ruffling his hair, whispering, “Just go with it,” into his ear. Keith consciously relaxes his shoulders.

“Yup!” Shiro says, much louder, “We’re backpacking cross-country together. Just some brother-bonding time before this guy heads off to college.”

Shiro levels his blinding smile at the woman who practically melts. All Keith can do is grunt in agreement. It’s not like he can back out of the room now—this lady thinks they’re brothers, so it’ll be suspicious if his _older brother_ leaves him out in the cold because he has no money. Instead he stands there uncomfortably while Shiro gets the room keys and chats casually with the woman behind the desk.

“Check out is by eleven tomorrow,” she is saying when Keith tunes back in, “You can just drop off the keys in the box by the front door. Have a wonderful rest of your trip, boys!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Patterson,” Shiro says, picking up his bag from down by his feet and draping his arm back around Keith’s neck. “We will.”

The two exit the office back into the warm sun, and Shiro waits until they’re out of sight of the front office before moving out of Keith’s personal space. He rubs his neck as the phantom sensation of Shiro’s arm lingers.

“Alright, 12B. This is us. Here,” Shiro says, handing one of the key cards over to Keith and using the other to open the door to the room. Nudging it with his shoulder as it sticks in the jam, he asks, “What do you want to do for the rest of the day?”

It’s still pretty early, barely late afternoon, and the sun won’t set for another few hours. Keith shrugs, “We could drop our stuff here and then go scope out the town.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Shiro says, pausing between the twin beds and raising a questioning eyebrow at Keith, “Preference?”

Keith shakes his head, and Shiro deposits his bag on the bed closer to the wall and lets Keith claim the one by the door.

Keith stares down at it, hands gripping the straps of his backpack in a death grip but making no effort to remove it.

“I can’t pay you for the room,” he confesses, fast like he’s ripping off a Band-Aid. He’s prepared to bolt if this conversation goes in a direction that he doesn’t suspect it will, but that it very well might. Shiro frowns at his white knuckles but shrugs, otherwise unconcerned.

“It’s the same price for a double,” he says, an understanding look on his face. Keith relaxes his grip. “And that’s even more of a reason for us to stick together.” He meets Keith’s eyes and his mouth quirks into an uncertain grin, like he’s unsure how Keith is going to react, “That woman at the desk actually gave us a pretty good cover, if it doesn’t bother you too much.”

“You’re paying for me to have a place to sleep, and all you want is for me to say you’re my brother?” he asks, incredulously.

“Well, yeah.”

Keith turns to set his bag on the bed, a lump rising in his throat. He can’t meet Shiro’s eyes, not with such an earnest, honest expression on his face. Rationally, he doesn’t have a problem with it—it’s smart. Logical. But—family. And he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop with Shiro.

In his experience, people aren’t this nice without an ulterior motive.

“No,” he finally answers, “it’s fine.” He wants to trust Shiro.

“Great,” Shiro says, smile wide and eyes kind. Keith doesn’t look at him. A beat passes, then another.

“We shouldn’t stay here long. It’s too close to the warehouse,” Keith says into the silence, forcing his gaze toward the older boy, who his leaning his shoulder against the wall with his arms crossed, studying him. Shiro nods.

“I agree. I say we spend the night here, and then move on.” He frowns, eyes going out of focus as he thinks, “I want to see what I can find out about that school, but asking about mutants here is risky.” He comes back to himself and pushes off the wall, “Still, I bet we’ll be able to find it soon enough.”

Keith is more doubtful—he’s not sure he even trusts the “school” yet, or if he wants to find it—but he agrees anyway. It’s hard _not_ to believe Shiro’s confidence.

“Let’s go grab some food,” Shiro says, cuffing Keith’s shoulder as he passes him, and together they head into the town.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Keith is right, it turns out.

Not about Shiro. He’s given up waiting for Shiro to show he’s anything other than sincere, and it feels natural to call him “brother”. He’s earned the trust Keith wanted to give him in the first place a hundred times over.

Keith won’t give up on Shiro until Shiro gives up on him.

He _is_ right about the school, though. A grim smugness at _being_ right lives in his gut and sprouts guilt like weeds. He’s not happy they haven’t found the school yet, but he’s also not too upset.

Either way, it’s been months since they first met in that warehouse and all they have is a name: The Altean School for Gifted Youngsters. They have no idea where it is.

They do know for sure a lot of places that it’s _not_.

Despite it all, Shiro’s confidence rarely wavers and he remains determined to find the place. Keith doesn’t mind, because it gives them more time together and he’s quickly grown used to that. He’s never had any real siblings, but it doesn’t feel like a lie or a cover to pretend Shiro is his brother anymore.

It definitely doesn’t feel like pretending.

He laughs as Shiro trips over something on the floor and stumbles forward, wings flaring out on instinct to catch himself and knocking over a lamp. Shiro tries to twist to save the lamp and ends up in a heap on his side on the floor, one wing splayed out behind him while the other flops over his chest and face. The lamp hits the floor and thankfully doesn’t break.

Keith keeps laughing even as Shiro groans and pushes himself up, clawing his way onto Keith’s bed to droop face down at the foot of it. His wings rest casually to either side of him, draping like curtains over the sides.

“Yes, laugh at your poor, unfortunate older brother,” Shiro says, lifting his face from the bed to pout at Keith.

“It was your shoe,” Keith points out. Shiro raises an eyebrow at him and then looks pointedly toward the door to their room where his shoes rest in a haphazard pair. Keith’s boots are strewn across the middle of the floor. He shrugs, unconcerned, “Oops?”

Shiro shoots him a look that says if he weren’t lying down, he would be smacking Keith. Keith raises an eyebrow in challenge, but Shiro drops his face back into the bedspread instead.

Keith nudges him with a foot and Shiro swats at him, “Something wrong?”

Shiro had been ranting while he paced their room, but that’s such a common way he talks through his thoughts that Keith has learned to tune him out. He’s like a glorified engineering duck—Shiro’s fond description.

Shiro picks up his head enough to shoot him a glare that Keith meets with raised eyebrows.

“It’s not fair when you use my tactics against me,” Shiro grouses as he sits up, reshuffling himself so that he’s sitting cross-legged on the end of Keith’s bed, chin resting in his right hand while his elbow balances on his knee. Despite his previous joking, his face is sober and serious.

Keith’s spine straightens and he leans forward to listen.

“I don’t know if I should go meet this guy,” Shiro says. Keith crosses his arms, already knowing where this is going. “Supposedly, he knows about the Altean School, but something feels…off.” Shiro’s breath leaves him in a rush of frustration and he runs a hand through his hair.

“Don’t go,” Keith says simply. He doesn’t trust it, knows exactly what Shiro means when he says something’s off because he feels it, too.

Shiro’s eyebrows furrow and he throws his hands in the air, “But what if this is the lead we need?”

“What if it’s another dead end? What if it’s a Garrison trap?” Keith counters, “Shiro, you’ve never had a bad feeling about any of the others we’ve met. Don’t go.”

“I think I have to,” Shiro says, frowning and avoiding Keith’s gaze.

“Why?” Keith asks, heat creeping into his tone. This is stupid. This whole search is stupid and dangerous. Who knows if this school even exists?

“Because we have to find it!” Shiro exclaims, any of his typical calm lost as his hands punctuate his words wildly, “A place where we can use our powers without worrying about it!”

_A place where I can fly_ , Keith hears. In all the time he’s known Shiro, in all the time they’ve spent practicing with Keith’s powers and control, he’s never seen Shiro in the sky. He would almost believe the wings were just for show if it weren’t for the longing glances he’s caught Shiro giving the sky, like the clouds are calling to him. The way Shiro will close his eyes and his wings will ruffle as the wind blows by like he’s riding its currents instead of firmly planted on the ground.

Keith swallows hard and looks away from the need naked in Shiro’s expression. He can meet Shiro’s passion and drive with his own, but he’s never learned how to comfort or confront such an honest pain.

“I’m going with you,” he says instead.

“No,” Shiro says immediately, and Keith’s eyes spark with the anger that flares hot up his chest.

“Why not?” he challenges. “If it’s so important, we both should go.”

Shiro’s already shaking his head, “I need you here in case something does happen.”

Keith huffs in a blatant dismissal, eyes narrowing into a glare, “You need me _there_ in case something happens. _I_ control fire, Shiro.”

Shiro’s feathers ruffle and meets Keith’s glare with his own, but he doesn’t rise to the bait.

“If it _is_ a trap, then we’ll both be captured. I need you to come find me if I don’t come back.”

Keith’s heart sinks at those words, his deepest dread blooming like frost in his gut. His anger is effectively doused under the cold horror of the very idea. “How am I supposed to rescue you? It’s not like I can call the police to report a _missing mutant._ ”

Shiro’s glare breaks at that, a smile curling up at one corner of his mouth, “You’d find a way. I trust you.”

Damn it, Shiro. He always knows exactly what to say. Keith clenches his eyes shut before opening them and giving Shiro a sour look, “You get an hour.”

Shiro grins outright at that, “I won’t even need it.”

Keith sighs, crossing his arms. “Alright. What’s the plan?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s been an hour.

Keith’s grip tightens on his cup as his eyes sweep the street again, looking for the familiar tall form and faithfully maintained undercut, his heart sinking further when Shiro doesn’t appear.

Shiro is always late. He runs behind and forgets to leave when he’s busy so he ends up rushing. He oversleeps and overcommits and is unfailingly apologetic about it. He’s late to _everything_.

But for this? He would never be late to meet Keith after how concerned they _both_ were about this whole situation. He _promised_ he’d be back within the hour. Shiro doesn’t break promises.

Which means that something is wrong.

Keith could give it time, wait out the extra fifteen minutes like Shiro said in case he ran into a delay, but he’s not going to. Shiro’s lucky he even waited the hour.

He tosses his cup in the trash and sprints determinedly towards where he knows Shiro was supposed to meet his contact, keeping a look out for him the entire way.

It’s not far, and it can’t possible have taken an eternity, no matter how the time slows and skips around him. As he approaches, his heart sinks down to his toes. Shiro had planned to meet this guy in a popular park near the center of town, hoping the amount of people around would dissuade any sort of foul play.

There are police barricades blocking the way and police in riot gear mill around behind them. The park is empty, as far as Keith can see.

He doesn’t slow down, sprinting right up to the barricades and drawing the attention—and aim—of the closest officers.

“My brother was in there!” he shouts in panic, “What happened? What’s going on?”

Pity colors their faces as the man and woman nearest him exchange glances and lower their guns.

“Mutants,” the woman says, in what Keith assumes is supposed to be a kind voice. He doesn’t care about her kindness; he cares about what happened to Shiro.

“Was anyone hurt?” he asks. He wants to grab her and ask where the mutants are now, but that’s too suspicious. Shiro’s depending on him. Keith is shaking.

The officers exchange another look, like they’re unsure whether or not they should tell him anything because the honest answer is ‘yes’.

Anger flares hot and fast at the idea they might not tell him where Shiro is and before he can stop it, the barricade catches fire where his hands grip it. All three of them freeze in surprise, and horror. Well-used to this scenario, Keith recovers first, turning and sprinting away into the crowd even as he hears the police shout behind him.

He dodges around startled onlookers, ducking into alleys and side streets that he memorized with Shiro as possible escape routes if Shiro should run into trouble.

For all the help that did him.

It’s saving Keith now, though, and with a running start, he vaults up onto a dumpster and grabs for the fire escape on the side of an apartment building. He scrambles up and darts across the flat roof so he can see back towards the park.

From what he can see, the Garrison suppressor trucks aren’t among the assembled police, so either they’ve already come and gone or they haven’t shown up yet. He hopes that they haven’t shown up.

But that then begs the question of where is Shiro?  He would run before fighting if he had the chance, and he wouldn’t injure any civilians even if he had to fight to get away. Not if he could help it. The police would be hushing people if the Garrison had captured a mutant, not sending out officers in riot gear.

Does that mean Shiro got away? If he was being chased by the Garrison, he wouldn’t lead them right to Keith, which could be why he didn’t make the meet up at the coffee shop. And then Keith went and revealed himself as a mutant to the cops anyway.

He scowls and stands from his crouch, heading back to the fire escape. He hasn’t heard any sirens near him, so he’s safe for now. He takes a deep breath and allows the fire within him to calm to a steady smolder. His head clears.

He needs to get to their secondary meeting point.

Shiro had thought the one rendezvous spot would be enough, but Keith is grateful that he managed to convince him that if things went sideways, they’d want to be able to get out of town quickly. So they’d checked out of their motel and moved all their belonging to a campsite a mile away, which is where Shiro might be waiting for him with that apologetic grin on his face.

His impatience and agitation grow as people crowd the street and force Keith to keep a casual, unassuming pace. As soon as he can be sure he’s out of sight of any curious onlookers, he takes off as fast as he can.

He bursts through the trees already calling, “Shiro!”, and his Keith’s heart sinks when he finds the site completely undisturbed. Reality and understanding hit hard enough that he stumbles back to fall heavily into a nearby tree trunk. Shiro’s gone.

A terrible thought hits him, and Keith can’t move fast enough, tearing across the camp and ripping the branches that hide their supplies away from their clever arrangement. Relief is like a sledgehammer to the head. Shiro’s things are still here. The overwhelming relief that Shiro didn’t leave him is only slightly tempered by guilt, since it means Shiro is missing and probably captured. It also means that Keith can find him.

It means that Shiro wants to be found.

So Keith will find him.

As soon as he figures out where to start. The daunting task rises before him like a specter and Keith sits hard on the ground, leaning his head back against a tree to stare up at the leaves.

He needs a plan. The police will be keeping an eye out for him, so Keith has to wait for them to clear out so he can look for any clues Shiro may have left him. He’ll also have to find a disguise.

Feeling more centered for having a plan of action, Keith starts setting up the camp, pitching a tent and pulling out supplies. He keeps as busy as he can, scouting to make sure there are no other campers or hikers that could stumble upon the site, picking out a dark sweatshirt of Shiro’s that’s less noticeable than his bright red jacket, finding a loose hairband to pull his hair back.

When he runs out of things to do, he settles down and tries to meditate like he’s been practicing with Shiro. He can’t afford another outburst like earlier.

It’s much harder without Shiro there.

Eventually, the jittery feeling of anxiety gets to be too much for Keith to even pretend to be focusing on breathing and he groans in frustration. Restlessly, he prowls the small clearing again and decides to practice fighting. Shiro’s taught him some new martial arts moves that incorporate well into his style, and could be really effective if he could channel fire into them.

It’s too dangerous to practice that here, but he can at least master the moves.

It goes much better than his attempt at meditation. By the time he’s rinsing off his face and the back of his neck and switching shirts, it’s already approaching three in the afternoon. It’s been a good five hours since Shiro went missing, which is long enough for the Garrison to have moved on.

Right?

Either way, Keith can’t stand to wait around any longer. There’s a relentless itch that feels like it’s pulling him towards the park, and he’s out of patience to fight it. It’s not the first time the itch has crawled under his skin, and it’s an instinct that’s gotten him out of a few near misses. He’s not going to doubt it now. Not when it’s Shiro on the line.

Keith pulls out his smaller travel backpack and repacks it with some essentials and things he can’t afford to lose. He learned young not to go anywhere away from your campsite without what can’t be replaced or what you need if you’re compromised and you can’t get back. He’s always ready to go, now.

Thus, he only needs to add a few more things to what he had before—it’s different to pack for one person, and Shiro can’t afford for him to be weighed down in his search.

Checking the bag one more time, Keith hesitates, and then grabs a shirt and pants that belong to Shiro, as well as one of his sweatshirts.

Ready to go, Keith puts on his jacket, picks up his bag, and heads into town.

People are still wary, but they’re out in the streets whispering rumors about the “mutant sighting from earlier today.” Keith keeps his head down and ears tuned in. He’s wearing headphones that trail to an empty pocket, and people write him off as a typical teen not paying attention to the world around him.

Shiro taught him that trick.

He hears a lot, but none of it is anything close to reliable news, but there’s a common thread that Keith can trust amidst all the unlikely stories: none of the mutants were caught by the Garrison, and the Garrison officers have more or less moved on. It does little to help the sinking weight that Shiro is in terrible danger.

By the time he reaches the park, any of the nervous energy Keith had managed to work off is buzzing again through his veins, and he ducks around the side of a building to sprint into the bushes of the park. He stoops down quickly into cover and listens, listens, breath held, limbs frozen—it doesn’t sound like anyone noticed him.

Keith stays in his crouch, easing forward and wary of any police or Garrison that could still be lingering in the park.

Shiro was supposed to meet his contact by the bridge—they’d planned it carefully. There was a clearing to the side in case the absolute worst happened, and Shiro needed to take to the skies to make a quick get-away. He apparently didn’t have the opportunity.

As he gets closer, Keith slows his steps.

There are voices up ahead. It sounds like they’re trying but failing to be quiet, and Keith pauses, eyebrow rising in question. That’s not Garrison. He cautiously creeps forward, peering through the leaves.

The first thing he notices is the ship. It’s the most high-tech craft he’s ever seen. A sleek white, blue, and black, it’s long and thin with a pointed nose and wings located toward the back—it almost reminds him of the Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird. Parked where it is at the edge of the field, Keith has no idea how anyone could have missed it flying in—and can it land _vertically?_

“What are we even _looking_ for?” The frustrated exclamation tears Keith’s attention away from the beautiful ship and to the small group of people in the clearing. Once he sees them, he can’t tear his eyes away.

They are the most strangely dressed group of people he’s ever seen.

Are they wearing a _uniform_?

There are four of them, three wearing a thick but skin-tight black…jumpsuit? There are colored accents at all the joints and a stylized V across their chests—each is wearing a different color: blue, yellow, and green. The fourth figure is wearing white where the rest have black, with pink and light blue accents. Are they some sort of team? They’re not going to blend in anywhere in that. Keith is baffled by their presence.

The blue one is the one that spoke, throwing his hands up in the air as the yellow one just shrugs in response. The pink one ignores them both, standing in the middle of the clearing with her eyes closed and her hands outstretched, unmoving, while the green one waves her hand up at them and says, “shhhh, go look for clues,” focused on her computer.

The blue one huffs, “What clues?” but drags the yellow one off to the side of the clearing to inspect the grass.

The charred grass. Keith’s gaze sharpens and he studies the clearing carefully.

There was a fight here. Now that he’s looking, Keith can see the obvious signs of it. There are patches of charred grass littering the clearing, but in a more precise and narrow pattern than anything Keith can achieve with his fire. Electricity? There is also the tell-tale twists of dirt in small, flattened patches of grass that suggest the pivot placement of a foot or hand in a turn—which Shiro does a lot of when he fights.

Keith’s eyes dart up to study the treetops, desperate for any signs of broken branches that could tell him if Shiro managed to fly away.

Nothing. He nearly yells in frustration, left with only the clearing to find hints that will give him a better grasp on what happened here. The clearing of which he has a _limited view of because of these intruders_.

_Why_ are they even _here?_

He glances briefly in annoyance at the group and can’t keep down the surprised yelp when the older woman is staring straight back at him. He instinctively falls into a defensive stance, hands coming up with the small bursts of flame that out him as a mutant.

There’s a yelp from the smaller girl, “Hey! Watch the trees with that!” She, too, looks up at Keith, and he notices the grass around her seems longer than the rest of the clearing. She distractedly brushes away some of it where it curls around her foot and rubs an eye, grumbling to herself.

“What?” Keith asks. Is she a mutant? The blue and yellow ones are staring at him, and the pink one hasn’t moved from where she continues wait for him to say something. Are they all mutants?

Are they the ones who took Shiro?

But then, why would they be back here?

“Who are you?” he asks.

“Hey, buddy, we were here first. Who are _you_?” the blue one responds, stalking forward. The yellow one puts a hand on his arm, saying, “ _Lance_.”

“We are Voltron,” the first woman says in an accented voice, freezing the others in their tracks.

“Vol…tron,” Keith repeats, confused and frankly unimpressed.

The blue one, Lance, swells with pride, “That’s right, team Voltron, fighting for mutant rights and protecting mutant freedom.” He strikes a pose, a glittering shower catching the light and falling from the hand he holds aloft. Is that…snow? Keith does not understand these people.

The taller woman takes a steadying breath, “Yes, well. That is true. We are also all mutants ourselves.” She places a hand on her chest, “I am Allura. This is Lance, Hunk, and Pidge,” she gestures toward blue, yellow, and green respectively.

Lance groans, “Come on, what happened to codenames? I thought we were doing codenames.”

“You called Allura ‘princess’ is what happened,” Hunk says, patting his shoulder. “I’ll still call you Ice-Man, Lance.”

“Thanks, Hunk,” Lance says, deflating. Pidge snorts.

“It’s a stupid name,” she weighs in. Lance glares at her. She stares back, one eyebrow raised and unimpressed, “Oh come on, you probably ripped it from a comic book. We don’t need codenames.”

“You’re just saying that because you already have one,” Lance whines. Hunk continues to pat his shoulder in comfort.

Are they for real? Who made them a team? They’re ridiculous and Keith has no idea how to respond to it.

So in unison that Keith wonders if he missed a cue, they all turn their gaze on him. He flinches back and hesitates, but they clearly know something about what happened here… “I’m Keith.” They already know he’s a mutant, anyway, so there’s not much else to lose. “What are you doing here?”

Allura studies him but answers, “Pidge picked up transmissions in the Garrison indicating something had happened here involving mutants. They suggested that there was mutant-on-mutant violence with a possible kidnapping. We thought it might be Galra and decided to investigate.”

“Galra?” Keith asks, lost. Is that a name?

“They’re bad guys,” Hunk says, explaining nothing.

“They’re mutants?” Keith looks around at the charred grass. “Why are they attacking other mutants?”

Allura’s mouth thins as her expression hardens, “The Galra are an amoral, evil group that have decided if humans cannot accept the existence of mutants, then the existence of humans is unnecessary. They hunt down mutants and tell them their philosophy, giving them an ultimatum: either you are with them or against them.” She straightens her back into an almost regal posture and raises her head, “We stand against them.”

Keith stays quiet, absorbing the information. The Galra must have taken Shiro. He never would have agreed with their philosophy, and he never would have willingly gone along with them. How did they know to target him, though? Keith frowns.

The school. The school must be a lure.

“The school has nothing to do with them!” Allura exclaims. Keith starts and turns to stare at her. He knows he didn’t say that out loud, and the rising blush on her face confirms it.

“You can read my mind?” Keith asks. He feels violated. “That’s private! Get out of my head!” He steps back like distance is a real defense against mental invasions.

Allura holds up her hands in appeal, “I did not mean to. I am sorry, you were thinking very loudly. You are concerned for your friend.”

Keith eyes her warily, “Why should I believe you, about anything?”

Pidge snorts, “That’s what I said.” Keith’s eyebrows rise in surprise.

Hunk nudges Pidge gently with his foot, “Uh, Pidge, I don’t think that’s actually helpful.”

Pidge smacks his foot away, “Sure it is.” She gives Keith a confident smirk, one eyebrow cocked above a clever gaze, “Right?”

And, strangely enough, she is. These don’t exactly seem like villainous masterminds, and they definitely aren’t military. Allura frowns as he thinks that but doesn’t say anything, and Keith glares at her in distrust. He doesn’t like the idea of being around a telepath all the time, but they might be his best chance at finding Shiro.

Pidge adjusts her glasses, studying him, “We can help you block her, if you want.” And that really settles it.

“Ok,” he says, “I’ll go with you.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,“ Lance cuts in, violently slashing his arms through the air and shaking his head vigorously. “Who said you were invited?”

“Lance,” Hunk groans while Allura’s frown grows more severe. She straightens her already impeccable posture and looks down her nose at Lance.

“We accept all mutants that do not agree with the Galra and desire a safe place to be themselves.”

“Plus, we don’t have anyone who can do anything with fire,” Pidge shrugs.

“That’s not the point!” Allura exclaims, finally frustrated enough to crack her perfect commander persona. She visibly draws herself back together, “Of course you can come with us, Keith. We will do our best to help you find Shiro.”

Pidge looks sharply up from her computer, “Shiro?”

Keith glances at Allura, who’s abashed as she catches her mistake, before saying, “He’s my friend. The one the Galra got.” His fists clench, “Why?”

Pidge studies him, “My family knows him. He worked with my dad and brother on his senior thesis.”

“Oh,” Keith says. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do with that, but Pidge accepts his response with no further comment. She looks around with a little more interest after that, though. A few minutes later, she closes her laptop with a snap and climbs to her feet, brushing away the blades of grass that cling to her as she stands.

“Well, I’m done,” she announces.

The rest of them are done, too, apparently, because they all head for the ship.

Allura waves for Keith to follow, asking, “Is that all you have, or would you like to stop somewhere to pick up your belongings?”

“That would be great, thanks,” Keith says. Allura nods and slips aboard, while Keith takes his time trailing after her. It’s just as nice inside as it is outside. He glances curiously—enviously—at the controls as they get to the front and Allura seats herself in the pilot’s chair. Lance catches his interest and immediately protests.

“Nope, don’t even think about it. I’m training to be copilot. I pilot the ship when Allura doesn’t, so you can just back off,” he says, glaring.

“I wasn’t—“ Keith starts before he cuts himself off because he _was_.

“It can’t hurt to have more people who know how to fly, can it?” Hunk points out.

“Paladins, please,” Allura says, exasperated. “Keith, where are your things?”

Keith moves to stand behind Allura, directing her as they rise straight up into the air and fly over the town—“Invisibility cloaking,” Pidge smugly explains—and back to his campsite.

He grabs all his stuff quickly, and they’re on their way in no time flat. The ship flies like a dream, and Keith’s hands itch to get control despite himself.

He shoves them in his pockets and looks away.

Within the hour, Allura announces they’re arriving at the school, and Keith’s gut clenches at the realization that he and Shiro had been so far away; they were nowhere close to finding it on their own.

That doesn’t matter now, he tells himself, gripping the armrests of his seat. He’s found the school. He’ll find Shiro and bring him back here.

The last of the cloud cover fades away as they descend, and the sprawling grounds of the school come into view. Keith’s jaw drops.

It’s not a school, it’s a _castle_. In the middle of vast fields surrounded by woods sits a huge building made up of stone and windows and arches with ivy almost completely overtaking one wall.

“Oh yeah, we live at Hogwarts,” Hunk says, catching Keith’s expression. “It surprised me, too.”

Keith can only nod in wonderment, taking it all in with wide eyes. The ship lands on what Keith originally thought was a helipad where a man with bright orange hair waits for them. As the ramp lowers and the others scramble off, Keith hangs back and gathers his and Shiro’s bags, listening as the man calls out greetings to the others with obvious enthusiasm.

“Coran!” Allura calls, exiting the ship. “We have a new paladin. Keith?” The last is directed back towards the ship, and Keith takes it as his cue to disembark, where the man exuberantly bounds over to meet him and startles Keith enough to create a small burst of fire between them.

“Ah, a fire starter!” The man—Coran—exclaims, unfazed, “Haven’t met one of you since Alfor accidentally woke up the mutant we were trying to recruit in the ketchup incident! Took his eyebrows weeks to grow back.” He grabs Keith’s hand and pumps it up and down.

His mustache is outrageous. Is it part of his mutation?

“You’ll be wondering what I can do, then?” Coran says, and Keith focuses sharply on his eyes, which are unexpectedly shrewd. “No worries, I’m not a mind-reader. Just very good at people.” He winks and then suddenly Keith is facing a frowning, worried version of himself who says, “ _Very_ good at people,” before morphing back into Coran.

“You’re a shape-shifter,” Keith realizes, and Coran laughs.

“Oh ho ho, look at those synapses firing.” Coran studies him again. Keith doesn’t know what he’s seeing. “You’ve got good instincts,” he says, mysteriously, before grabbing one of the bags—Keith’s, not Shiro’s, so Keith doesn’t fight it—and starts leading the way up towards the school where the others have already disappeared.

Coran takes him all the way through the estate, chattering endlessly and pointing out all the different rooms and interesting parts of the castle until they finally end at an empty bedroom. Coran declares it to be his and “please don’t light the curtains on fire.” He points out which of the rooms are occupied, and by whom, before he drops the bag and tells Keith when dinner is.

He’s leaves, and Keith’s alone.

He slumps down onto the end of his new bed and stares at Shiro’s bag in his hands, the enormity of everything that’s happened hitting him all at once. The school, the Galra, the other mutants, a telepath…so much has happened in a few short hours, and Shiro being gone is the hardest one of them to accept.

Keith hadn’t realized exactly how much he’d come to trust that Shiro was going to stay.

“Where are you?” he murmurs. There’s an awkward cough from the hallway, and Hunk fiddles with his fingers, standing embarrassed in the doorway.

“Uh, I was going to see if you wanted us to show you around—Coran goes way too fast—but if you wanna stay here and talk to your bag, that’s cool, too.”

Keith shakes his head, “No, that would be great. Thanks.”

“No problem,” Hunk says as Keith stands. “Me and Lance know all the best spots in school. Pidge knows all the small ones.” He smiles and moves out of the way, back into the hall.

Keith follows, Shiro’s bag catching his eye where it sits lonely on the floor one last time before he firmly shuts the door, deciding to trust them. It was worth it with Shiro. When he turns around, he’s surprised to find Lance leaning casually against the wall, both hands behind his head.

“Ready to go, Hot Head?” he says, pushing off the wall. Keith bristles.

“I’m not a hot head,” he argues, and then Hunk’s between them, grinning widely.

“Let’s start on the roof, since we’re closest to there,” he decides. “Lance can make his Lion King reference.”

“Aw, man, now you ruined it, Hunk,” Lance whines as they set off down the hall, clearly expecting Keith to follow.

Their tour is much better than Coran’s, full of bickering and smiles that are simultaneously confusing and informative. But he does learn a lot about the estate and their daily lives.

“This is the pool. Don’t get in a splash fight with Lance—he cheats.”

“This is the hedge maze. Pidge hides in here. You’ll never find you, and you might get eaten by a bush.”

“This _was_ …something. I forget what, now, but Hunk killed it.” “It was an accident. I said I was sorry. Plus, _you_ took out that fountain.” “Allura didn’t even like that fountain.” “You can’t even remember what this was!”

“This is the Danger Room. It’s where Allura tries to kill us every day at evil hours of the morning.”

“It is training,” Allura cuts in, voice drifting from the dining area where she and Pidge are already waiting. Keith hadn’t realized it had gotten so late, and his stomach growls in anticipation of food.

Lance and Hunk easily slip into their usual seats, leaving Keith the empty chair next to Pidge. As soon as he sits, Coran strolls in from a door on the opposite side of the room that leads to the kitchen. He’s wielding four dishes in—Keith stares—his four arms.

His eyes sparkle and Lance groans, “Every time.”

Dinner itself is a rowdy affair as Pidge, Lance, and Hunk trade barbs and sniping while Coran tells outlandish stories Keith isn’t sure he can trust.

Keith stays silent, taking it all in and overwhelmed by the noise.

Allura notices. He meets her eyes at one point, and she offers him a gentle smile, leaning across the table to say, “You will get used to them quickly, I’m sure. It can take a while to readjust to being in groups, for some people. Training will help.” She raises her voice, addressing the whole table, “Danger Room session at 7 am tomorrow. Then Psychic Defense after lunch.”

The other three groan, but excitement blossoms in Keith’s chest. This is what he needs.

Dinner wraps up soon after, and everyone disperses to their rooms or places unknown.

Keith escapes back to his room, exhaustion and anxiety warring in his chest at having spent so much time with so many people. He’s used to the quiet and Shiro, who’s almost as quiet by nature as Keith.

Today has been a lot, in so many different ways.

He pulls off his shoes and puts them in easy reach of the bed, next to his still-packed bags. Lying down, he stares up at the ceiling, missing Shiro.

He rolls onto his side and tries to force his mind to stop thinking.

It takes him a long time to fall asleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Keith wakes up the next morning, there’s a suit like Pidge, Lance, and Hunk were wearing but red hanging from his door handle. Itchy at the idea someone came into his room without his knowing, Keith files it away to worry about later. And to look into installing a lock on his door.

He wanders over to the suit, since it’s there now, and runs his hand along the fabric. It’s surprisingly soft. When did they have time to make this? Do they have a bunch of them just lying around?

Shrugging, he pulls it on, flexing his hands and stretching. It’s a good fit.

He’s probably supposed to wear it to Danger Room training.

He grabs a granola bar from his bag—he doesn’t trust his ability to find both the kitchen and the Danger Room in time—and heads down to meet up with the rest for training.

He gets lost once and has to backtrack, but he still isn’t the last one there—Lance is, yawning into a cup of coffee. Hunk rubs sleepy eyes, and Pidge is in a corner, curled over her laptop and already lazily punching at keys.

“Since this is Keith’s first time, do we get to use a lower level?” Hunk asks in a hopeful voice.

Keith furrows his brows, “I don’t need a lower level.”

The others groan, but Allura smiles cheerfully at him, “Thank you, Keith. We will begin at level three, to give you a chance to work on your teamwork, especially with a new member.” She turns to a wide window up above them, “Ready, Coran!”

And with that, the room transforms. Vines fall from the ceiling to hang in tangled knots and large boulders roll in from open slots in the walls, coming to a stop in scattered formations around the room.

There’s the sound of running water through pipes, and it’s the only warning Keith gets before a jet of water shoots directly at his face. He steps back, startled, and throws up a wall of fire in front of all of them at the same time that Lance steps forward to redirect the water away from Keith. The stream flies away harmlessly, but Lance’s extended reach brushes Keith’s firewall and he leaps back to crash into Pidge, yelping and clutching his hands.

Under his heavier weight and momentum, Pidge doesn’t stand a chance. She yells and tries to catch him but only manages to send both of them tumbling to the ground.

With a roar, fire pours from the ceiling and Keith reacts first again, meeting it with his own stream. The two collide in an explosion of heat that umbrellas out over them, and Keith starts to sweat immediately with both the heat and the effort.

“Oh man,” moans Hunk, moving his hands quickly. Across the room, two of the boulders fall to pieces before flying over to reassemble in a shield above their heads. It cuts right through where Keith’s fire meets the Danger Room’s, and the sudden cessation in a resistant force against Keith’s own means that he pushes too hard and sparks rebound off Hunk’s shield and back towards them.

“Shit,” Keith says, cutting off his push of fire and switching tactics, trying to alter the course of the rebound away from the others even as Hunk throws himself over the two still struggling on the ground.

Hunk’s shield comes apart, raining heavily down around them, and Keith shifts to throw himself out of the way when a quick tremor knocks him off his feet. He hits the ground and rolls, narrowly avoiding a rock to the head. Without pause, he uses his roll to bring himself up to one knee, looking around wildly for the next attack. He doesn’t see one, but the tremors continue to intensify and rattle down to Keith’s bones.

He wobbles, putting a hand down for balance and nearly falls over.

“Hunk,” Allura shouts.

“I’m trying,” Hunk says through clenched teeth. He’s the source of the tremors—his emotions are out of control and it’s manifesting as earthquakes. Keith crawls towards him, placing a hand on his back in the familiar gesture Shiro would use on him.

He can hear Lance speaking calming to Hunk over the rumbling, and Hunk’s short, shallow breaths take on a deep, measured quality.

Gradually, the tremors slow and cease. Silence descends over the room.

“That was a disaster,” Allura says. The group untangles themselves and they all scramble to their feet to face Allura’s uncompromising stare. She glares imperiously at them, hands on her hips. “Perhaps some other teamwork exercises are necessary, first.”

They all nod, embarrassed, and look away from each other. The whole thing lasted maybe five minutes.

Around them, the room returns to normal—vines retracting into the ceiling and boulders melting away into the ground—and Allura waves them over to the center of the Danger Room, indicating for them to sit in a circle. Pidge backs up instead.

“Nu-uh, no way,” she says. “I’m not doing this again. Hunk always goes digging around in my head!”

“We’re supposed to be sharing,” he defends, “you can look in mine.”

“Maybe we should tie them all to each other until they learn to work together,” Coran suggests over the intercom.

The four of them exchange a look at Allura’s intrigued expression and, as one, sprint from the room before she can respond.

“Scatter!” Lance yells, peeling off down the right hall with Keith while Pidge and Hunk take the left. They duck through doorways and secret passages together, and Lance grabs Keith’s arm when he tries to split off in a different direction.

“But you said,” Keith starts, frustrated.

“It was a distraction,” Lance explains, cutting through the kitchen to take them outside. “And a code. Hunk knows where to meet us.”

“If you say so,” Keith says, and they crouch under the windows, running hunched towards the garage. There’s =a ladder almost hidden behind the vines there, and Lance directs Keith to climb it.

Waiting for them on the roof are a grinning, victorious Pidge and Hunk. Lance pulls himself over the edge onto the roof and sprawls out, crowing, “Another win for the Paladins of Voltron.”

Keith raises his eyebrows, “Do you do this all the time? Maybe you’d be better if you actually trained.”

Lance shoots up to his feet, “You know what? We were only bad today because _you_ threw off our groove! You’re the problem here.” The air around Keith chills.

Hunk holds up his hands in placation, “We have to work on it. Teamwork. We learned it before.”

“Without _Keith_ ,” Lance mutters, glaring daggers. Keith crosses his arms. He was just making an observation—Lance didn’t need to get so upset about it.

“Let’s do it without Allura’s mind meld this time.” Pidge says, wincing at the memory.

“Dodgeball?” Lancce offers, a suspicious gleam in his eye. The other two light up.

“Dodgeball,” they agree. Apprehension trickles down Keith’s spine.

He’s right to be nervous. It’s the most dangerous game of dodgeball Keith’s ever played—and he once almost burned down a school.

They all use their powers with vicious efficiency. Pidge sticks to the edge of the woods, using branches to form a shield around her, but grass will grow _just enough_ to trip them up as they try to dodge a ball. Hunk will look open until one of his circling boulders rebuffs the throw with phenomenal precision. Lance makes decoys and smoke shields and water bombs that he hurls with force.

But Keith can hold his own, too. He’s agile and acrobatic and can add extra fire power to his throws with bursts of fire.

It’s fun.

By the end of it, they’re all laughing and wet and dirty, and Keith knows more about his new teammates than he did before. Like the fact Pidge thinks it’s the worst kind of irony that she’s allergic to her power, and Lance thought for years that the ocean just liked him best of all his siblings, and that Hunk can make earthquakes when he’s anxious and spaceships when he’s focused.

Maybe this was an effective way to work on teamwork, after all.

It’s been a pretty productive day, honestly, even if Keith misses his first telepathic defense lesion because of the game. Lance waves away his regret with the excuse, “It’s Jedi mind shielding/legilimens crap anyway.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Keith says, confused. Which is the wrong answer, apparently, because they spend the night watching Star Wars.

Keith almost forgets to miss Shiro. Almost.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After that first day, it’s easy to fall into a rhythm. Keith spends a lot of time in the Danger Room, but Lance and Hunk enforce team bonding at least a few times a week. Allura and Coran love to talk, and the estate is huge but there is always some person lurking around every corner. So, when Keith needs to escape everyone for a little while, he heads to the roof.

It’s where he finds Pidge, more often than not. Neither of them gets upset when they find the other there anymore. The first few times, they eyed each other warily, but they’re both quiet and looking for space to think, so they settle into a comfortable camaraderie now.

Pidge will look up from her computer and give him a nod, and Keith will perch on the edge of the roof and think.

It’s a routine that establishes itself over weeks, which is why Keith doesn’t see it coming when Pidge breaks pattern, fixing her gaze on him when he hits the roof and not looking away.

“Takashi Shirogane,” she says, determined and vague. Keith has no idea what she wants.

“What about him?” he asks, crossing his arms as defensiveness brings his shoulders up. Pidge studies him.

“Why did the Galra want him?”

“If I knew, I’d probably have found him by now.” If he understood the Galra at all, they would be easier to find. But they’re this vaguely defined, evil entity that Keith knows nothing about because Allura refuses to tell them. “Who took your family?”

Pidge bristles, adjusting her glasses. She didn’t know he had figured it out. “If I knew, I’d have found them by now,” she shoots back. “You know, they didn’t just work with Shiro on his thesis.” It’s meant to be cutting and the blow lands. Hurt blossoms in Keith’s chest.

“What?” Was Shiro hiding something from him?

“Well,” regret colors her tone, like she didn’t actually mean to hurt him but doesn’t know how to apologize. She bites back first, regrets later when she’s hurting, “it was just that what they were working on was bigger than his thesis.”

Keith shouldn’t be as relieved as he is when understanding clicks.

“Because it was about the defense of mutants.” He and Shiro had talked about it, back at the beginning. Shiro had wanted to do it, but he’d known it would be inflammatory. It could come with backlash, and he didn’t want to do it without Keith’s support.

“After all,” he’d said, mouth ticked up into an easy grin, “it’ll affect you, too, if they come looking for me.” He’d been so casual, like he wasn’t giving Keith a say in one of the defining moments of something he’d worked so hard and so long for. Like staying with Keith and his comfort was more important to Shiro than something he really wanted to do.

“It’s not astrophysics,” Keith had pointed out, too overwhelmed for anything else right then. Shiro’s smile had slipped at the edges as his expression turned wry with an undercurrent of bitterness.

“No,” was all he’d said. And Keith got it, he really did. He felt the same. Shiro couldn’t do what he wanted because he was a mutant. He couldn’t fly, because he had wings. So he wasn’t going to be quiet about it.

And Keith wasn’t going to stop him, so he had agreed.

Now, he eyes Pidge, wondering if she got the same choice.

“What happened to your family?” He’s kinder, this time.

Pidge looks away from him down at her computer for a brief moment before she drags her eyes back up to his and sets her jaw. “My dad and brother were taken. I don’t know if it was the Galra or the Garrison.”

Keith furrows his brows, “Why would the Galra take them?” Taking Shiro made sense, because he is a mutant and showing rebellion against the rules mutants are chafing under. Plus, he’s Shiro. The Garrison taking them also made sense, because they never tolerated much defense of mutants.

Pidge fidgets, “My mom. She thinks they might be used against her.” Keith’s confusion shows on his face, so she elaborates, “She’s a scientist, too. A genetic engineer, studying the origin of the mutations that give us powers. The Garrison asked her to make a cure.”

Keith heart stops. “A cure.”

Pidge scowls, “She wants to make a temporary treatment, something for people with uncontrollable mutations, or for training, or whatever. To _help_. The Garrison wants it to be permanent. And mandatory.”

Keith’s mind is spinning. “So the Garrison would take your dad and brother to silence them, and to help force her to work for them. And the Galra want her to stop. Why wouldn’t they just take her?”

Pidge shrugs. “That’s why my money’s on the Garrison.”

“Where’s your mom?”

“Hiding. They can’t blackmail her if they can’t find her. But I can’t look for them if I’m hiding, so I found the school Shiro was always talking about. I thought he might be here. I thought—“ she breaks off, blinking quickly, “I thought he might know where they are.”

Keith shakes his head, “I don’t think he knew they were missing.”

Pidge nods in a sharp, jerky motion and goes back to typing, the angle and glare of her glasses hiding her eyes.

Keith’s gut twists, and he puts a hand on her shoulder, “Hey. We’ll find them. All of them.”

Pidge just nods again, and Keith pulls his hand away, taking it as a cue the conversation is done. He leans forward over his knees as his legs dangle off the edge of the roof and just takes in the fields.

“Thanks, Keith,” Pidge murmurs a minute later, and Keith keeps his eyes on the trees even as his heart warms.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Days pass now in a flash, until months have gone by and they’ve somehow become a team. It’s not like Keith forgets Shiro, or ever stops looking for him—he spends a lot of time with Pidge, trading theories and looking for information—but it also feels selfish to focus on that at the expense of everything else. Voltron is doing good work, the sort of work Shiro dreamed of doing, that Keith wants to do.

They’re helping people.

Allura still doesn’t quite trust them on missions, so most of the time they go on “missions”, all they do is sneak into towns and sabotage the Garrison or the Galra. No other mutants have wanted to come back with them yet, either, so they must be doing something good to make them feel safe.

Keith usually enjoys the missions and distractions. He feels good about their work, and they give him something else to focus on.

Today, all he wants is to be alone. Instead, he’s stuck with Lance and Hunk and Pidge and Allura on a ship heading towards another mission, and Lance keeps trying to _talk_ to him.

It’s not fair to take it out on Lance, because there’s no way any of them could possibly know, but it doesn’t stop him from snapping at anyone who tries to talk to him. Eventually, they leave him to brood in peace.

That makes it worse, because Shiro would have known something was wrong.

But Shiro’s been gone now for as many days as he’d been with Keith, and Keith is no closer to finding him than he was on the day the Galra took him.

So it’s not his best mission. He’s short-tempered and explodes in a way he hasn’t in a long time, since before he met Shiro. He catches a chair on fire and terrifies a little girl before yelling at Lance instead of acknowledging the guilt he feels about it. Finally, Allura sends him back to the ship to cool down.

He stomps off, put in time out, and ignores the weight of their questions and stares. When he gets back to the field where they parked the Griffin, he doesn’t board. Instead, he leans heavily against the landing gear as the burden of his grief drags him down towards the Earth.

He’s beginning to doubt he’ll ever see Shiro again.

Acknowledging the fear gives it permission to hit him like a blow to the gut, knocking the wind right out of him. He blinks back tears and swallows hard, but the doubt sits heavy in his stomach, pulling his shoulders into a hunch.

Keith never thought he could give up on Shiro, but he can. One day soon, he will. It’s a knowledge that lives like betrayal in his heart, and Keith can’t deal with it right now.

Luckily, his team bursts into the clearing at that moment, giving Keith time to hastily swipe his arm across his eyes to get rid of any evidence of tears before he prepares himself. Except they don’t start lecturing him, and their expressions are serious.

“Come on,” Lance says, pulling Keith to the descending ramp. “Allura’s spidey senses picked up something huge. We gotta go.”

The world realigns itself with a jolt as Keith pushes his feelings away and focuses on the mission. Then he sprints after Lance and onto the ship.

By the time they get to where Allura sensed—whatever it was she sensed, all that remains is a giant smoking crater in the ground surrounded by dead silence.

They stand at the edge of it and take in the scene with horror.

The crater is at least 30 feet wide, deep and lightly smoking. There’s no one around, but the team remains tense anyway. Whatever caused this probably survived, at least. Even if nothing else did.

“What’s going on, Allura?” Keith asks, hands raised defensively. Aside from the crater, it’s an empty clearing surrounded by trees.

Allura is distressed but trying to hide it, standing tall and frowning deeply, not letting her eyes rest on anything for too long. She keeps letting them get dragged back to the center of the crater before she closes them in order to concentrate, lifting one hand to her head and holding the other out in front of her.

After a moment, her brow furrows, “I don’t know.”

Keith huffs, his annoyance at the day and the tension in the air breaking through his control again, “What does that mean?”

“It means I don’t know,” Allura snaps, eyes still closed. She visibly reigns herself in. “I sensed a great amount of anguish and fear from this one area, and an awesome burst of power, and then…” She trails off, opening her eyes and revealing they’re filled with distress, “Nothing.”

Her hands drop.

No one has a response to that, and the team pokes half-heartedly around the devastation until they turn without discussion and file, oddly somber, back to the Griffin. The silence continues the whole ride back to the school, and the tension in Keith’s bones should be easing as they get further away from the site but it’s building instead.

It’s frustrating and vague and another damn mystery and Keith is ready to tear his skin off to escape it. He has to know _why_.

“There’s something at the gate.” Lance’s voice is quiet. It’s the first thing anyone has said in an hour, and he’s clearly reluctant to break the stillness, for once.

Hunk, Pidge, and Keith crowd forward, leaning over Lance and Allura’s seats to see through the window at whatever Lance is pointing out.

There’s a dirty, disheveled pile pressed against the wall next to the gate.

“Coran?” Allura calls.

“I see it on the screens, Allura,” he responds. “I don’t know when it got here, or how.”

“It’s a person,” Pidge says, a hushed exclamation. Her eyes are wide and she rears back in surprise at the realization. They all look closer, and that’s not just a person, that’s—

“Shiro!” Keith’s breath catches and he tightens his fingers on Allura’s chair before peeling them off so he can sprint towards the back of the ship, yelling, “Land, _now_ ,” over his shoulder as he goes. Hunk and Pidge are right behind him, and a moment later, Lance is there, too.

Keith is practically vibrating, his blood thrumming a pounding beat under his skin. It takes too long to land, too long for the ramp to drop far enough for Keith to get down, too long to reach Shiro’s side.

And then he’s there.

Shiro is lying collapsed on the ground, dirty and nearly unconscious, insensate to the world as he mutters names Keith can’t identify in a wrecked voice. His wings are bound together and trapped beneath him, there’s a scar slashed across his face, the front of his hair has turned white, and he’s here.

Keith’s legs give out, and he crashes to the ground beside Shiro. He reaches out but hesitates to touch him, entirely unaware of what other injuries Shiro is hiding. But Shiro is lying on his wings. Keith has to free them.

He pulls out his dagger and rests a hand on Shiro’s shoulder, carefully adjusting him so that he can see where the wings are bound so he can remove the bindings. Once they’re in view, Keith freezes and bile burns the back of his throat. Once immaculate and well cared for, Shiro’s wings are now a mess. Feathers have been torn out and chunks are missing or scorched.

And they’ve been clipped. Someone clipped Shiro’s wings.

Keith swallows down the bile and the grief and lets fury rise to take its place, burning a path through his veins.

He slices through the bindings, and Shiro finally reacts, groaning as his wings droop down out of their trapped position. By that time, the others are there, horror etched across their faces. Lance drops down beside Keith, carefully helping him turn Shiro so they can check on him without further hurting his wings.

As he shifts, Shiro’s right arm falls free from where he’d had it cradled in front of himself. The sight brings another round of dismay, because that’s not Shiro’s arm. Where there used to be flesh, it’s now metal.

Keith reaches out to let his fingers graze across it but stops before they touch. The tension that’s been building in him all day is screaming in the back of his head.

Lance doesn’t stop.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Keith warns just as Lance makes contact.

The arm sparks purple under Lance’s fingertips and Shiro’s eyes fly open, his voice cracking apart on a scream. The glow lights more strongly.

 Lance doesn’t move, even as his face pulls back in terror and his normally dark skin pales. The air around them begins to crystallize, ice flakes forming to hover around them like a mockery of stars.

Keith grabs Lance and _yanks_ but it’s like his hand is stuck to Shiro’s arm. The others grab hold and pull and, just as Lance finally disengages, Keith meets Shiro’s eyes. They are filled with pain and fear, and Keith topples over to the ground as much under Lance’s weight and momentum as by Shiro’s emotions.

Shiro looks broken.

Hunk pulls Lance off of Keith, and Shiro collapses limply back to the ground. For a moment, no one wants to touch him, and he lies alone in the dirt, trembling.

Even Allura hangs back.

Keith is the first to move. He pulls Shiro up, staying on his left side and noting how Shiro takes care to keep his right side angled away from everyone, bringing a mangled wing forward slightly to block access to his arm. He’s muttering apologies even as his voice grows hoarse.

Keith’s heart clenches, and he can’t stop himself from throwing his arms around Shiro’s shoulders and gathering him into a hug. Shiro goes boneless in his arms and shudders, but he doesn’t cry, so Keith does it for him, and for himself, but joy is battling against his horror.

He’s still Shiro. He’s clearly been tortured, and his arm is a weapon he can’t control, and he’s suffering even now, but he’s still Shiro. He’s back and he’s himself, and that’s the only thing Keith cares about.

They’ll worry about the rest later.

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, that's all she wrote. For now, maybe. Sorry about the cliffhanger. So much more does exist in my head for the details of this universe, but as of right now, there are no plans for a full on story. Maybe some short one-shots, because I honestly do like a lot of the stuff I couldn't fit in here. 
> 
> What do you think? Constructive criticism please! And even if you hate it, please please please go tell [Princess-tentacles](princess-tentacles.tumblr.com) how amazing the art is. Because it is so great, and I'm so happy it exists. 
> 
> As always, find me on [tumblr](thehouseofthebrave.tumblr.com)!
> 
> PS: If you comment, know I see it and it brings me more joy than I can describe, but I'm so busy starting my new job that I have limited time and can pick only one other thing to do. The 2 bangs currently took priority


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